“I won’t be ten minutes, sir,” said Oliver, eagerly.Having buttoned up the bank-note in his jacket pocket,and placed the books carefully under his arm,he made a respectful bow, and left the room. Mrs.Bedwin followed him to the street-door,giving him many directions about the nearest way,and the name of the bookseller,and the name of the street:all of which Oliver said he clearly understood.Having superadded many injunctions to be sure and not take cold,the old lady at length permitted him to depart.
“Bless his sweet face!” said the old lady, looking after him. “I can’t bear,somehow, to let him go out of my sight.”
At this moment, Oliver looked gaily round,and nodded before he turned the corner.The old lady smilingly returned his salutation, and,closing the door, went back to her own room.
“Let me see; he’ll be back in twenty minutes,at the longest,” said Mr. Brownlow,pulling out his watch, and placing it on the table.“It will be dark by that time.”
“Oh!you really expect him to come back, do you?” inquired Mr. Grimwig.
“Don’t you?” asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling.
The spirit of contradiction was strong in Mr.Grimwig’s breast, at the moment;and it was rendered stronger by his friend’s confident smile.
“No,” he said, smiting the table with his fist,“I do not. The boy has a new suit of clothes on his back,a set of valuable books under his arm,and a five-pound note in his pocket.He’ll join his old friends the thieves,and laugh at you. If ever that boy returns to this house,sir, I’ll eat my head.”
With these words he drew his chair closer to the table;and there the two friends sat, in silent expectation,with the watch between them.
It is worthy of remark,as illustrating the importance we attach to our own judgments,and the pride with which we put forth our most rash and hasty conclusions,that, although Mr. Grimwig was not by any means a bad-hearted man,and though he would have been unfeignedly sorry to see his respected friend duped and deceived, he really did most earnestly and strongly hope at that moment, that Oliver Twist might not come back.
It grew so dark, that the figures on the dial-plate were scarcely discernible;but there the two old gentlemen continued to sit,in silence, with the watch between them.
CHAPTER XV. SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST,THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE
In the obscure parlour of a low public-house,in the filthiest part of Little Saffron Hill;a dark and gloomy den,where a flaring gas-light burnt all day in the winter-time;and where no ray of sun ever shone in the summer:there sat, brooding over a little pewter measure and a small glass,strongly impregnated with the smell of liquor,a man in a velveteen coat, drab shorts,half-boots and stockings,whom even by that dim light no experienced agent of the police would have hesitated to recognise as Mr. William Sikes. At his feet, sat a white-coated, red-eyed dog; who occupied himself, alternately, in winking at his master with both eyes at the same time; and in licking a large, fresh cut on one side of his mouth, which appeared to be the result of some recent conflict.
“Keep quiet, you warmint!Keep quiet!” said Mr. Sikes, suddenly breaking silence.Whether his meditations were so intense as to be disturbed by the dog’s winking, or whether his feelings were so wrought upon by his reflections that they required all the relief derivable from kicking an unoffending animal to allay them, is matter for argument and consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect was a kick and a curse, bestowed upon the dog simultaneously.
Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries inflicted upon them by their masters; but Mr. Sikes’s dog, having faults of temper in common with his owner, and labouring, perhaps, at this moment, under a powerful sense of injury, made no more ado but at once fixed his teeth in one of the half-boots. Having given in a hearty shake, he retired, growling, under a form; just escaping the pewter measure which Mr. Sikes levelled at his head.
“You would, would you?” said Sikes, seizing the poker in one hand,and deliberately opening with the other a large clasp-knife,which he drew from his pocket. “Come here, you born devil!Come here!D’ye hear?”
The dog no doubt heard; because Mr.Sikes spoke in the very harshest key of a very harsh voice;but, appearing to entertain some unaccountable objection to having his throat cut, he remained where he was, and growled more fiercely than before: at the same time grasping the end of the poker between his teeth, and biting at it like a wild beast.
This resistance only infuriated Mr. Sikes the more; who,dropping on his knees,began to assail the animal most furiously.The dog jumped from right to left,and from left to right; snapping, growling,and barking; the man thrust and swore,and struck and blasphemed;and the struggle was reaching a most critical point for one or other;when, the door suddenly opening, the dog darted out:leaving Bill Sikes with the poker and the clasp-knife in his hands.
There must always be two parties to a quarrel,says the old adage. Mr. Sikes,being disappointed of the dog’s participation,at once transferred his share in the quarrel to the new comer.
“What the devil do you come in between me and my dog for?” said Sikes, with a fierce gesture.
“I didn’t know, my dear, I didn’t know,” replied Fagin,humbly; for the Jew was the new comer.
“Didn’t know, you white-livered thief!” growled Sikes. “Couldn’t you hear the noise?”
“Not a sound of it, as I’m a living man, Bill, ” replied the Jew.
“Oh no!You hear nothing, you don’t,” retorted Sikes with a fierce sneer.“Sneaking in and out,so as nobody hears how you come or go!I wish you had been the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago.”
“Why?” inquired the Jew with a forced smile.
“’Cause the government,as cares for the lives of such men as you,as haven’t half the pluck of curs,lets a man kill a dog how he likes,” replied Sikes,shutting up the knife with a very expressive look; “that’s why.”
The Jew rubbed his hands; and,sitting down at the table,affected to laugh at the pleasantry of his friend.He was obviously very ill at ease, however.
“Grin away,” said Sikes, replacing the poker,and surveying him with savage contempt; “grin away.You’ll never have the laugh at me, though,unless it’s behind a nightcap.I’ve got the upper hand over you, Fagin; and, d—me,I’ll keep it. There!If I go, you go; so take care of me.”
“Well, well, my dear,” said the Jew, “I know all that;we—we—have a mutual interest, Bill,—a mutual interest.”
“Humph,” said Sikes,as if he thought the interest lay rather more on the Jew’s side than on his.“Well, what have you got to say to me?”
“It’s all passed safe through the melting-pot,” replied Fagin, “and this is your share.It’s rather more than it ought to be, my dear;but as I know you’ll do me a good turn another time, and—”
“Stow that gammon,” interposed the robber, impatiently. “Where is it?Hand over!”
“Yes, yes, Bill; give me time, give me time,” replied the Jew, soothingly. “Here it is!All safe!” As he spoke, he drew forth an old cotton handkerchief from his breast;and untying a large knot in one corner,produced a small brown-paper packet. Sikes,snatching it from him, hastily opened it;and proceeded to count the sovereigns it contained.
“This is all, is it?” inquired Sikes.
“All,” replied the Jew.
“You haven’t opened the parcel and swallowed one or two as you come along, have you?” inquired Sikes, suspiciously.“Don’t put on an injured look at the question;you’ve done it many a time. Jerk the tinkler.”
These words, in plain English,conveyed an injunction to ring the bell.It was answered by another Jew: younger than Fagin,but nearly as vile and repulsive in appearance.